The Truth
by Butterfly Prospekt
Summary: She should not have let him go. Two years later, Sandy realizes her mistake.


_**A/N:**__ Here. So I know I should be updating Give it a Week, but. -shameface- I can't stay away from Soda and Sandy for the life of me. This is slightly AU, even though the book never specifically says anything about what happens to Sandy. I'm ignoring the fact that Soda is supposed to die in Vietnam, because, quite frankly, I refuse to believe that. No. I do not allow it. xD_

_Susie owns the Outsiders. The brilliant Chris Martin, Guy Berryman, Jonny Buckland, and Will Champion of Coldplay [and their record label] own the song Warning Sign. It fits in so perfectly I couldn't NOT use it._

* * *

**The Truth**

_A warning sign._  
_I missed the good part, and I realized._  
_I started looking, and the bubble burst._  
_I started looking for excuses._

Sandy puts a hand over her eyes. How do other women do this?

Her two-year-old stares up at her, tiny hands on tiny hips. "But, "_Mama_—"

She's had enough of this argument. "Carrie, I swear to God, if you don't be quiet this instant..." She trails off. She can't threaten, but she can't make her daughter mind her, either. She's worthless at this motherhood.

_Remind me why I left Soda, again?_

Why does she do that? Why does her mind always drift back to something she can't have? It's over. It's done. She made a mistake, her own fault, and there's nothing she can do to fix it.

_He was so perfect_.

Yeah, Soda was perfect. He built a little perfect world around her. It was only when she started to look outside of the world, to reach for something she had no right to want when she had Soda ... Then the trouble came.

The other man. She remembers him clearly. More muscled than Sodapop. Dark-haired, toned skin. A deeper, rougher voice. She can't remember him laughing at all. His tough hands, hurting her, just a little. But the pain of his touch balanced out the perfection of Soda's. Surely one girl could not be entitled to such ecstasy all to herself. And certainly not Sandy the slut.

Once that other man came, then came the lies. The, 'I'm sick, sorry, honey. Can't go out tonight,' when really, she did go out. Into the other man's arms, letting him hold her. Letting him use her. Using him. To fulfill some unknown, animal need she had. Soda was like air; pure, sweet, soft, light. His fingers, trailing across her skin, left the tiniest trace of a tingle. The other man's hand left a burn, it would seem. Scratch marks. Bruises that didn't show, didn't form, but should have with all of the desperation.

That still didn't answer her question.

Why had she done it?

To sate her thirst for something unreasonable.

Sandy turns their names over in her head. Sodapop is always so much more prominent.

_If I had told you the truth, Soda, would you have stopped me? Set me straight? Or, had I dropped off the excuses, would you have left me for a two-timer?_

It's been two years. She doesn't even think she can pinpoint what he would have done anymore.

_Come on in._  
_I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in._  
_I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones_  
_that I started looking for a warning sign._

"Mama-"

"Sandy, dear-"

Sandy sighs. "Just a second, Carrie." Then, louder: "Yes, Nana?"

Her grandmother's voice carries to the living room from the front door. "There's a man here for you."

A man?

Sandy hasn't seen any man since she came to Florida. Tulsa was the end of her loving days.

All the same, she comes to the door, hitching Carrie on her hip because the little girl insisted. She always does insist. "Hello," she says as she rounds the corner.

Her grandmother retreats into the hallway.

"Sandy."

_My God._

It's Soda.

Blond, gorgeous, sugar-sweet Sodapop. That gentle, calm smile. Slicked back hair. Eyes that she could drown in. How did she ever leave him?

"Soda," she whispers. She doesn't know what to say. Part of her wants to slam the door in his face. That's the horse sense in her. The other part wants to drop her daughter, grab Soda by his shirt, and kiss him. Fiercely. Press her lips to his without hesitation, because she might not get another chance. Drag him to the nearest bed—the couch, even—and force him to make her happy.

She does none of it. Just stands there and stares.

"May I come in?" _Always the gentleman_.

"Sure." She steps aside, stumbling over her words. "Yeah. Do. Of course."

He steps over the threshold, hands her a bouquet of flowers. Daisies. Her favorite. Her tongue is tied, though, and she can't thank him.

"Why?" she asks numbly.

"Why did I come?" He smiles, barely. Just a soft turn of his lips. "Pony, he wrote a book. Sold it. He's going 'round, tryin' to sell it. The publisher sent him to Florida. I had to come, and try to see you ... If you'd have me here." There's pride in his voice as he talks about his kid brother.

Sandy breathes in the information. "It's been a long time." She adds, hopefully, without thinking. "I'm sorry. Really."

Soda is quiet for a second.

She's desperate. "Please, don't hold it against me. I'm sorry, really I am. You've got every right, but I wish you wouldn't." She'd like nothing more than to cry all over his chest, but she lost that right when she broke out of her perfect world.

He says, "Your daughter is beautiful."

Carrie smiles up at him.

"Nice of you to say that. Any other man in your place would have hated her."

"I don't hate her, Sandy. Or you. Of even her father. That ain't my right. I wasn't good enough for you; I lost you. Plain and simple."

_No._

_Oh, no, Soda. No._

"No."

She sets Carrie down and grabs his arm. "No. You were so good to me. I don't know why I did it. It was a mistake. That's all."

"I couldn't be what you needed."

"You were everything I needed."

God, why can't she get her point across? No matter what she says, he won't believe her.

"I should go." He pauses, scuffs at the floor with his shoe. "Just wanted to see your face."

_And the truth is..._  
_...I miss you!_  
_Yeah, the truth is_  
_that I miss you so..._  
_Oh, and I'm tired..._  
_I should not have let you go!_

"Damn it, Soda, don't you dare."

She needs to be bold. This is her chance, to get back what they once had. "Soda, please."

"What else is there to say!"

She finds his eyes with her own, links them. He has to believe her. He has to! She needs this. Needs it, so bad, needs him to know. Doesn't matter if he doesn't care—he just needs to hear it before he leaves.

"I miss you."

He smiles. Almost. It's bitter.

"I love you, Sodapop Curtis."

Now it's a real smile, a sad one.

"It was the worst decision of my life, leaving you. You should hate me, but you don't. You're too kind. I don't deserve you."

"Sandy—"

"But I want you. God, I want you so bad, and if you'll take me back ... I swear I'll treat you right."

"Sandy."

She looks into those big, beautiful eyes. She would be crying now if she hadn't run herself dry of tears two years ago.

_So I crawl back into your open arms._

Soda pulls her into an embrace. His warmth-it surrounds her. His strong arms—just what she needed! Perfect. Delicious. His skin, so smooth, gentle, careful. He knows not to hurt her, knows what she needs, knows how to touch her and when. She kisses him, then, her lips meeting his, with so much ferocity, that of two years without his love. Her hands brush down his arms as he holds her, so cautiously, so considerately. He breathes into her hair.

"Damn it, Sandy."

She's scared for a moment, scared he's angry with her.

"I love you, too."


End file.
